The Swan King
by Lady Viola Delesseps
Summary: Ludwig II of Bavaria, builder of Germany's fantasy castles, and lover of romantic operas, is hopelessly insane, and a letter written by his cousin and former fiancee to her husband reveals some of the history and emotions of this beautiful man. Inspired by the 2012 German film "Ludwig II" and historical rumors.


King Ludwig II of Bavaria is one of my favorite people in history to read about, simply because of the beauty and tragedy of his life and story. For those of you new to Ludwig's world, the set-up for this story was inspired by a rumor I read while researching his life. While not known to have actually occurred, this story was passed around the court as gossip, and, taking it as inspired by truth, I wrote the letter Duchess Sophie wrote to her husband to set his mind at ease as to the compromising situation he discovered her in one night. I realize that some of this is a great aberration from history, but I did not agonise over it, since after all, it is based in rumor. Enjoy!

To My Husband the Duke – from the desk of his wife, Duchess Sophie:

Here I write a complete and faithful account of what took place last night in those rooms, preceding your untimely entrance upon the scene which gave you – and I scarce need add myself – such alarm.

You may or may not know the previous relationship that Ludwig and I enjoyed together, both in the years of our childhood, and the years shortly before my father had us wed. He told you, I know of the fact that I was at one time affianced to a man who, having trouble of the mental sort, ultimately rejected me. While that is more or less true, it is quite obvious that my erstwhile father erred on the "less" side, rather than the "more". And of course, it was to his purpose that he omitted telling you the man I was engaged to was Ludwig II.

You know, of course, that we are cousins – my mother was his father's sister – and as such we were very close during my childhood in Bavaria. As a child he did not seem mentally disturbed; perhaps he was a bit strange, but children are forgiving of such things. We played together on the grounds, we romped through the castles, and generally spent every waking hour together. When the time came for our education to commence, we commenced that together as well.

I was about nine years old when my father deemed it necessary to remove me from such a rustic setting, ruled by petty royalty though it may be, and take me to his home in England, where I could better learn English and the etiquette useful for a young lady of my birth and station. Thus I was removed from my cousin Ludwig, and he from me at an early age, after such a concentrated friendship as I think few can boast.

I had such happy memories of that time – but they were soon chased away by my years in England. I all but forgot about the dark-haired child, with luminous eyes and a love of swans, fairy tales, and all things beautiful in the swirl of society and success we enjoyed. I also nearly forgot I was German, a fact which my father realized with pain on the fifteenth anniversary of my mother's death. While visiting her grave I found I could not make out more than a few words of the once familiar headstone engraving on account of it's being in the tongue of my childhood.

Being now eighteen years old, and well established in my manners, education, and bearing, my father took me with him back to Bavaria, to visit our relatives, and to view the beginnings of my cousin, the now-crowned Ludwig II's architectural endeavors. I remembered but little of our times together, but as the Bavarian countryside rolled by out my carriage window, it came back to me in floods, and I found myself wondering what sort of man that child had become.

We hardly recognized each other, but _die K__ö__nig _was so anxious to renew our friendship that he at once commenced upon giving me a tour of the grounds, much of which I had no recollection at all, and on showing me his swans, in which he takes an inordinate interest. It was like meeting someone you knew from your dreams – there were faint remembrances of a few things, enough to please me, but not so much that I wasn't continually fascinated by this man who was my cousin Ludwig, King of Bavaria. If before we had cared for each other in any way, it paled in comparison to the passionate love – yes! I write it unashamedly – that we were persuaded we felt for each other, notwithstanding his mental disturbances and my foreign upbringing.

It pleased my father to have us marry, and so he superintended our engagement and thence began some of the happiest months of my life. Even before my removal to a small town a few miles away for propriety's sake before the wedding, we wrote letters faithfully to each other and cherished every moment of time spent together: wandering the parks, boating with the swans, attending operas by Wägner, and reading beautiful old German legends like _Tannhauser _and _G__ö__tterdammerung_ from the same book. In our letters I called him "Heinrich" and he called me "Else", two lovers from our favorite opera. Ludwig confided to me that he wrote in a small brown book all his feelings and thoughts, especially those relating to women, and that persuaded me that there is nothing seriously the matter with him, or at least not anything beyond what he recognizes and tries to correct.

But then, one day during my visit, _die K__ö__nig _told me not to expect a letter the following day, as he didn't think he would feel like writing one. I didn't mind – or a least I told him so – believing it was one of his little flights of fancy that led him to strange behaviors. However, beginning that day, there commenced this awful period of vacillation about our engagement, during which my father was very harsh with him, and I tried my best to understand the truth, which seemed to be: yes, he was still in love with me, and violently so, but no, he did not think we should proceed with our marriage because he feared he was "strange", and perhaps not alright, and that I perhaps someday would not like a husband who was insane.

I responded as best I could from the shocked state into which that threw me, and told him that I loved him as he was, and that there was no need for such irrational fears; but that if he thought it was best, then he should tell my father, who was growing impatient with the whole business. And so he did – our engagement was broken off, and we parted with great tears on his part, and great sorrow, mixed with confusion on mine. Thus I returned to England, and my father to the task at hand, the all-absorbing search for a husband for me.

My father and yours knew each other from years ago, as you well know, and thus our marriage seemed a goodly alliance, and we quickly met and were wed, and that but a brief year ago – my! how slowly this year has seemed to pass! I wonder if it has seemed so long to you. And now to the part of my letter I am sure you have been anxiously awaiting, husband.

When we visited Bavaria this past summer to view to completed Schlöss-Neuschwanstein _die K__ö__nig _had built, you yourself met him and pronounced him very strange – perhaps not hopelessly insane – but very strange indeed. This was shortly after he invited the great Richard Wägner to live at court, but then sent him away a few months later because of his great living expenses and the outcry of his people against the taxes raised to combat them. This, no doubt, was a difficult time for Ludwig, and so I was not surprised that he was moody and temperamental.

I never needed to tell you this – you certainly noticed how in the manner of a child, Ludwig chose to ignore what was upsetting him, namely you, my husband! and pretended you did not exist at all! Once on a moonlit boat ride on the lake, I confronted the King about this. I asked him why my marriage to another upset him so when it was his own hand that pushed up apart? His response was fiery and frightening, not the child-like excitement or agitation he usually displayed. He made it seem that I had committed a foul crime against him, against Germany, and declared that his country would refuse to recognize my married state so long as I was here.

I knew Ludwig too well – or so I thought – to think he could intend harm to anyone, least of all me, so I did not worry for myself, only for him. To convince him of my marriage to you, in the heat of rising passions, I told him what I had only just told you – that I was with child.

He did not believe me, and, as I insisted, he fell silent; the boat drifted listlessly along. It was as if a spell had descended upon that boat ride, and did not speak a single word after that, but let the swan boat drift to the pier with a few leisurely strokes, and then leaping agilely out in contrast with his spell-like state, tied it up securely, gave me his hand, and bade me goodnight with a beautiful smile. I did not know what to make of it, and so thought no more on it until our departure for England, when he helped me very gently, almost tenderly to my seat in the carriage and told the driver upon the box to see that he drove carefully.

His actions puzzled me all the way back to England, and when I told you, you only laughed and told me, "My lady, this visit has convinced me that your cousin Ludwig II, King of Bavaria is nothing more than a harmless lunatic." I disagreed with you, saying he seemed capable enough in his kingship, as attested to by the fact that he has resisted Prussia so long in it's attempts to annex his kingdom, and has now come to England in a diplomatic appeal for aid, using my mother's marriage as his legitimate alliance and right to military succor.

He, no doubt, was anxious to see me, and in his letter began to confuse me by references to the fact he wanted to pass off an "intact kingdom to his heir" (I asked him who it was he had chosen to succeed him someday, but he did not reply) – he seemed to place great stock in the fact he remembered my baby was to be born this spring. As soon as his official visits were over yesterday, he returned to his rooms at the ducal palace, and we met in the library and enjoyed a wonderful time of visiting over tea and scones, which he professed to like immensely. Things must have gone well with His Majesty as I haven't seen him in such a cheerful, almost jubilant state of mind since the time of our short-lived engagement.

He took his leave of me quite early, saying, "I will see you soon," – I assumed he meant tomorrow – sooner by any standard than our previous visits. Therefore I was quite surprised when late into the evening, while you were still away with His Majesty, he made his appearance at the door to my chambers, a lighted taper in his hand, as the hall lights had already been extinguished. The candles were still lit in my room, and though I was in my shift and gown myself, I asked if he wanted to come in – yes! I did invite him in. But I could not believe him capable of harm to me, and he did look so pathetic standing there looking ghostly in white, his thick hair mussed, as if he would go on standing there for all eternity if I did not speak to call him in!

Ludwig entered, and at once seemed at ease, setting his light down on my bureau just where you saw it when you came upon us – you see! I am relating this faithfully – and took his seat in a chair opposite my chaise-lounge, upon which I seated myself. The candlelight cast an intimate glow over everything, and in it his luminous eyes shone, making them seem unnaturally full of flickering light and intellect.

We spoke in low voices of several subjects, upon the weather, in which Ludwig II seemed to have little interest, but indulged me very politely, then upon the subject of architecture, upon which he waxed eloquent, and then about the old swans again, and what they were doing, how many eggs had been laid, how many had hatched and so on. I could almost believe we were back in the times bygone in Germany, when we were allowed to love each other; and only the stirring of the babe within me reminded me of the differences of circumstance between that time and now.

I relaxed completely, growing a bit drowsy, and repositioned myself for greater comfort as a moment of sweet silence reigned. But when the King's voice came, gentle and melodic, his words snapped me to the alert. He said, with a look full of love, such as he used to give me in Bavaria,

"I'm so glad our son will be born in the spring."

I did not hear the rest of his whimsical remark to the effect that it would be just like a baby swan; I was trying to assure myself of what I had just heard. Then it came again.

"Our baby will love swans too."

I was at a loss of what to say – he truly seemed to believe what he was saying! – he believed we had really and truly wed, and were enjoying life in Germany, and that the child I was to birth was his, as was his right as husband! Perhaps you were right, that his reason had really left him – and he had succumbed to complete lunacy. The thought was more than I could bear.

I spoke to him, my voice as uncertain as the candlelight on our visages.

"Ludwig – you know we are in England –"

"Of course." He looked affronted. "It is much nicer than I expected, though not so nice as Neuschwanstein."

"And you know – my husband –"

"Let us forget him." Ludwig waved a hand – those beautiful nervous hands!– and slid to his knees on the floor, beginning to make his way slowly closer to me. I stood quickly.

"We cannot forget him." I would have said more, but his eyes looking up at me took the words right from my lips. He was so lovely – but hopelessly insane!

"Let us not speak of him, my dear Else," he said, calling me my name from Wägner like he used to. "It pains me. I want to pretend he is not there. At least our child –"

I could not bear to let him go on. Try, husband, if you can, to imagine how tragic this was! This falsehood that the King believed and was so happy in, was nothing more than that – a falsehood! My eyes filled with tears, but I remained on my feet.

"Ludwig – my own Heinrich–" I whispered. "This is not your child. I did not marry you – I married the Duke, and this is our child."

"I know– our child..." he echoed, and as I stood and watched him, he crept a hand up and laid it gently against my womb where the child lay! Then he drew his face close as if to kiss it... I stood there in silence as he kissed and fondled the baby within me, happy in his oblivion to the facts. I entwined my fingers in his thick beautiful hair and offered silent prayers to heaven as he continued to caress me and murmur unintelligible things to it. Finally I could bear it no longer. I sank down upon my couch, pulling the object of his affections rudely from him, and took his face in my hands, speaking as clearly as I could through my profuse tears.

"Ludwig – darling," I said. His eyes filled with tears in an involuntary response to those in my own, and I choked. His tender voice came as he covered my wrist with his hand.

"Sophie– Sophie! What's wrong? You are crying, something is wrong. Don't cry, you'll make my baby awake."

I no longer feared upsetting him – the tragedy of the delusion his innocent mind had led him to was breaking my heart, and I had to tell him the plain truth. "Ludwig, this is not your child. It's mine and my husband's, but not yours. Do you understand?" I whispered.

He pulled my hands from his face and touched my belly again, tilting his head far to one side as he always did when touching the soft wing of one of his swans.

"And am I not your husband?" His voice was clear and innocent. He did not understand. I tried to tell him again, but the knowledge that he was mad– utterly and incurably mad– overwhelmed me, and I took his head into my lap and sobbed like a child, intending to tell him once again, if I could, the truth after this explosion of grief was exhausted.

Tears ran from his face purely because they were running from mine, and the King allowed himself to be held and rocked for a moment before he began to speak again in his delusional way.

"Heinrich, no," I hushed him, knowing I couldn't bear to hear him pronounce the words "my child", knowing they made him so happy, but that they were so completely false. "You mustn't say it – it isn't true."

"But it is," he insisted. "I know it – you would think I would know, wouldn't you?"

"No... no, it's not true, you know it."

"It is! And you must name it after me, for I know it is a son–"

"Ludwig–!"

My exclamation of his name was in pure shock to his latest pronouncement. I knew I should tell him to leave, and yet I hated to send him away still believing this fanciful dream.

"I must ask you to leave; it is late. But please, believe me –" I could say no more. He did not understand, and now there was only hurt in his beautiful eyes. The candles burned low as we sat in silence, _die K__ö__nig _periodically murmuring,

"He will look just like me. I know it. I know it."

I did my best to rally myself and tried one last time, steadying my voice with effort.

"Ludwig – darling Ludwig – King of Bavaria, the great Swan King...!" His eyes grew happier, and he almost smiled. "...This baby is not yours. Please just believe me. You don't understand."

The smile vanished. "I do!"

I stood, resolved to leave if I must, but he leapt to his feet, and embraced me.

"Sophie – don't go," he pleaded. For a brief moment, I relaxed in his arms – husband! please don't be angry at me!– daring to let myself enter his world, then I pulled myself gently away from him.

"This is not right."

"Of course it is! I will tell you of the baby swans like always – now sit–" He attempted to seat me again, but I shook my head and pulled free. "I am going."

"You cannot. I want my son here with me." Smiling like he always did during the Song of Siegfried, he placed a hand on my back and let his other hand descend down my form. I nearly fainted with sorrow for him – not from fear! for I still don't believe him capable of any harm to me! – and sank back to my chaise, my legs suddenly too weak to support me.

Alarmed, Ludwig leaned across me and began to search for my other hand which was pinned beneath me as I fell back, and as God is my witness, those are the circumstances that led up to the tableau which you suddenly and inopportunely came upon: I, nearly fainting, with tears upon my face, lying back upon my couch in my night attire, and my cousin Ludwig, King of Bavaria, also in his nightclothes, leaning across me, and searching vainly behind me with his hand.

As soon as you entered he started, and that was when after staring at you for a long moment, he fell to his knees and sobbed like a child, and ended by declaring,

"I'm afraid I'm not alright."

I was too heartbroken by this reply to give you proper answers to the questions you, with good cause, demanded of me, so please believe the faithfulness and veracity of these events set fourth here, by your respectful wife, SOPHIE


End file.
